


If you want me to, I'll give to you

by malachiical



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bestiality, F/M, Knotting, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 20:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17794409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malachiical/pseuds/malachiical
Summary: Faelen asked to be a werewolf. He did the proper rituals, the magic. Now every new moon, Luna comes to him to collect her price... or, possibly, to give him further reward.





	If you want me to, I'll give to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughty_sock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughty_sock/gifts).



It was twice a month, not once, that Faelen could not control his own body, when the moon pulled at him and shifted him according to her own desires, molding his flesh like clay. Each full moon, as was true of every other werewolf, and then once more, about half a month later.

The new moon. The nights that she was missing from the sky.

Faelen knew the moon not being visible didn’t mean that it, the actual celestial body, was gone. And he knew he couldn’t be the first that this had happened with, and may not be the only one even now. He wondered, sometimes, and his wondering humbled him, left him full of wonder and a little jealous and with a fire licking at his brain and straight through his groin—a mix of feelings he tried not to dwell on too closely or for too long.

All he knew was that he had asked for this. He had done the rituals to become a werewolf, to be able to change his shape, to don the fur and run freely whenever he wished. And it had come with a price, or perhaps a reward.

When the sun set on the night of the new moon, instead of the moon rising, Faelen felt her draw near. As he felt her presence—he could feel her from miles away, slowly approaching—his hair grew to fur, his teeth lengthened, every bit of him rearranged, until she was at his door. On such nights, he never locked it. On such nights, it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he did.

On such nights, she came inside.

Luna, pale and beautiful. Her golden crown framed delicate horns; her long hair, nearly as white as her dress, flowed in waves over her shoulders, like the tides she held such distant dominion over. Her eyes were like stars, nearly as bright and as difficult to fathom. From so close, feeling what felt like the full presence of her power but which he knew had to be dampened for his sake, Faelen knew he could never shift his form back in her presence, not even a little bit.

He never tried. He lay down before her, chin on his paws and his tail wagging without his input, totally overcome, and she knelt down before him in turn, and her soft hands stroked his face and up behind his ears.

He licked her hands, usually. It made her smile, and her smile was too wondrous to go more than a month without seeing.

She would leave his house again, then, head outside, and he would follow. He lived alone, his home far from any others, a secluded cabin that allowed him full roam of the forests where he could change when he wanted and run and hunt, and when she came it allowed him this as well. The stars shown down upon them in the moonless sky as beautiful, powerful, fathomless Luna sat in the soft grass and even softer soil, and lay back. She would remove her crown and lift her dress, spreading her legs, beckoning him with wordless demand.

After the first few times, Faelen did not hesitate; he didn’t want to disappoint her. He nosed up between her legs and licked, enthusiastic messy licking that tasted the full length of her and nearly every time dragged his tongue over her clit for good measure. She grew wet and swollen and gasping for him, and his saliva made her wetter still, and she tugged at his ears and petted his head firmly and held him to her.

“Good,” she told him, most nights, in a voice so exquisite the words rang in the air despite being quiet. “Good boy. You’re so good.”

His tail wagged. The scent and taste of her had his cock hard and eager out of its sheathe by then, but if it hadn’t been already, her praise would have done so by itself. He licked her until she came, moaning so beautifully that it could almost make him come too by just the sound alone, and kept licking even more intently, trying to lap up every bit of what she offered him.

When she finally shifted, he backed away, reluctant and eager all at once. He could never, ever keep from whining as she unwrapped herself from her dress, setting it aside in the grass and turning away from him, positioning herself on her arms and knees, back arched elegantly. It was lewd, and beautiful, and she didn’t have to glance back at him. She didn’t have to order him. He waited for her to anyway, because she seemed to enjoy it, and he knew he sure as hell did.

“Come here.”

He rushed to her, unable to be embarrassed by his eagerness, almost certain by now that she liked it. He mounted her, front legs around her waist in as close to an embrace as he could get, unable to guide himself in and so humping his hips forward several times before finding the right spot. Each brush of his cock against her thigh or pussy was maddening for him, and she trembled, too, albeit silently.

It usually took a few tries until he slid home, finding her wet heat and sinking in with a hard thrust, and immediately starting up a harsh rhythm that rocked her body against the grass. That was how he knew, or thought he knew, that she liked how eager he was; she’d give a pleased moan, tightening around him, and finally, finally vocal beyond just praise, ordering him how she wanted it to be.

There was never any call for _slower_ or _not so hard,_ which was good because he wasn’t sure he’d be capable of that. “Harder,” she’d order, or, “Faster,” and he’d try to find reserves to pump into her with even more wild vigor. “Deeper. Shift forward more,” and he’d try to make her voice break on _more_ by immediately scrabbling and shifting and laying pressed harder across her back so he could drive deeper into her. He rarely succeeded, but when he did, it almost always made him swell immediately.

He could feel himself swell, his whole dick and the knot at the base of it, and he could feel her shudder and squeeze and flutter around him. “More,” she demanded. _“More._ Good– Yes– Yes!”

It was the one time she sounded truly wild, and his body, like with his shifting, could never resist her. He gave her what he somehow knew she wanted, flooding into her body with come and feeling her respond, the way she came even harder than before and locked around him, holding him there. He gave periodic, abortive little thrusts of his hips, useless humping motions that barely caused any further stimulation. He never tried to keep track of the time, or how often he pulsed more semen into her, or how many more times she came; sometimes she came over and over again and it felt like it took only minutes, and sometimes he knew it had to be over an hour and she only had one or two more languid orgasms in her.

She never grew bored, or uncomfortable, or complained. He wondered if the time seemed to pass like a dream for her, too.

When he softened, finally, and slipped out of her, and lay on the grass, eyelids heavy and still panting, he watched her dress again, watched his seed stream down her legs the way her hair streamed over her shoulders. Watched it sparkle in the night, the way her eyes sparkled. Then it was all covered again, and she turned to him and smiled, knelt down one last time and planted a single kiss on his forehead. Always a single kiss.

“Good Faelen,” she would say, and it sounded like a title or a proclamation, rather than simple praise. He would whine, usually. He wouldn’t lift his head. Exhaustion would take him before he could see her leave, and when he woke the next morning, he would be stretched out, naked and sated and blissfully sore, in the grass outside his front door.

It was probably good that he didn’t have neighbors. He didn’t know how he would explain this, even to other werewolves.

He went back inside, and lit a white candle for Luna.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> (This isn't meant to be Luna the Roman goddess exactly, but inspiration for her appearance was definitely taken from her.)


End file.
